by Jan Steckel
(07/24/02)
"A varied diet is important to keep the body sharp and at its best," said Debbie, the nutritionist. My girlfriend Kim had recommended her, saying that although Debbie was an evangelical Vegan, I wouldn't mind the way she proselytized. I had been having certain problems with stamina. I wasn't ejaculating prematurely or anything. My arms just got tired. Kim would be yelling "Yes! Yes! Don't you dare stop!" and suddenly I would flop down on top of her, gasping like a beached flounder. Or I would be holding her wrists down the way she likes it, when in a pre-orgasmic convulsion of ecstasy she would inadvertently heave me right off her. Our bed is absurdly high, like some kind of altar, so flying through the air toward those hardwood floors whenever she hit the "eject" button felt a little dangerous. Kim used to row for Radcliffe, but I've always been underweight. My idea of exercise is walking down to the corner for an Italian soda. Push-ups and Wheaties just weren't doing the trick for me.
So that's how I found myself in Debbie's little walk-up office over the health food store. The room was bare except for two chairs and a table with an assortment of demonstration foods: exotic vegetables, amber-colored oils, beans and seeds of varied colors and sizes. She showed me vials of grains that had been rescued from pharaohs' tombs and Incan mummies' stomachs and were now cultivated only in Colorado for sale in health food chains. I felt that a priestess was initiating me into ancient mysteries.
"Flaxseed oil is rich in alpha-linolenic acid," Debbie murmured hypnotically. She dipped her fingers into the golden oil and annointed a crookneck squash, moistening and massaging the protruding end. As I felt my own protrusion rising in response, I remembered that Kim had said something about Debbie's methods being "unconventional."
"You must get enough time in bed to allow your body to repair itself." Debbie smiled at me and ran the tip of her tongue over her pink, wet lips. "Indoles, found in broccoli and bok choy, may reduce the risk of cancer, especially breast cancer. And hesperidin, a flavenoid that may protect against heart disease, is found in citrus fruits, such as oranges, grapefruits, tangerines." She guided my hand to her breast, plump and firm as a papaya. She lifted her shirt. I bent to enclose the areola in my mouth, licking softly around and around the nipple.
"Date butter gives a moist texture to bread and cakes." She slipped a finger into her pussy and then ran it over my upper lip. The faintly yeasty scent drove me wild. "White sugar is too refined. Have you ever tried blackstrap molasses?" She deftly tied my wrists behind me with a black sash. "Passion fruit is very satisfying," she murmured. "And there are so many delicious varieties of nectarine," she added, freeing my cock from my jeans. "Royal Giant," she breathed. "Red Jim." She knelt and grasped the shaft of my penis. My jeans slid down to my ankles. "Flavortop. Flamekist." I groaned as she took me into her mouth. The wetness. The heat.
It only lasted a moment before she was talking again. "Free radical damage can lead to impotence. Now walnuts are really good for you." She gently sucked at my scrotum, fondling my nuts. "Chock full of omega-3 fatty acids. That's why there's so little heart disease in Greece and the rest of the Mediterranean. The American diet is deficient in that kind of fatty acid, but with all that oil and nuts, the Greeks were getting it all the time."
I moaned and sank to my knees. She unfastened the strap around my wrists just long enough to pull them in front of me and tie them to one leg of the table. She pushed me onto my elbows, so that my butt stuck up in the air. My ankles were still cuffed together by my jeans. She moistened her middle finger in some Royal Bee Jelly and slipped it down the back of my black Calvin Klein underwear. At least, they used to be black. I hoped she wasn't noticing that many washings had given them an exhausted greenish cast. Her slippery finger circled my asshole, teasing, probing, gently pressing. "To keep a clear mind, only let wholesome things into your body." Pulling my worn underwear down around my knees, she reached onto her demonstration table for an Armenian cucumber, rejected it, and toyed with an English zucchini.
"Yes, please!" I gasped as she slipped her finger inside me. With her free hand, she selected a slender Japanese eggplant and rolled it in the Royal Jelly.
"You know your body wants wholesome food. It's asking for it."
"No," I panted. "No." She pressed the eggplant against my dilating sphincter.
"It's begging for it."
"Oh, God, yes, please!" I cried as she slid the vegetable deep into me. It pressed a spot inside me that made me cry out in ecstasy.
"Diets rich in lycopene have been shown to reduce the risk of prostate cancer."
"Yes! Yes!" I gasped. She pulled the eggplant out and lay down before me, spreading her legs on either side of the table leg and rubbing her crotch against it for a moment.
"Give me your pussy," I rasped, ready to ram my head into the table leg to reach it.
"Honey is an invert sugar. It's better for you than refined sugar, but eat only as much as you need." Yanking the slipped knot loose in one pull, she released my wrists so I could get up off my elbows. I crawled around the table and lowered my head downward into the moist sweetness of her pussy. I burrowed between her slick, dusky pink lips with my tongue and found her clitoris. It was swollen and tight, and it tasted like honey.
"Now remember to drink eight glasses of water a day to maintain your precious bodily fluids," she said afterward, buttoning her skirt. "Moderate exercise three times a week keeps the ball rolling. See you on Tuesday -- maybe you and your girlfriend could come together."
